Plaid
by Interim
Summary: Temari refuses to let a weird-ponytailed customer buy a hideous plaid shirt. AU; Oneshot; ShikaTema


A/N: I don't own Naruto.

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**Plaid**

Temari hated Tuesday nights.

She sat, arms sprawled across the checkout counter of the shanty clothing store she worked in. She sighed. It had been dead her entire shift, the small aisles and precariously rendered clothing racks barren of customers—and clothes, too. She felt like the last woman on Earth, bored and waiting to die—hell, after sitting around for seven hours in silence and sighs, she _wanted_ to die.

She glared at her watch again, daring it to move faster. Closing time was only twenty minutes away, she reassured herself. She was so close—

Suddenly, the door chimed. Temari jumped—this was the first time she'd heard that sound, or any sound, in seven hours. Some guy walked in, maybe her age, rocking some weird ponytail. He slouched around the store, occasionally grabbing something from a rack, only to toss it back lazily. She sighed again. He'd better not take more than twenty minutes.

She watched him, though, somewhat bemused as he moved sluggishly through the aisles. He was probably the only person alive going clothes shopping on a Tuesday night. And even though she didn't know him, she thought it was fitting.

Finally, he grabbed something from a rack that he actually kept.

"Hey," he said as he approached her counter. He looked tired. "Can I get a changing room?"

"Sorry," she sighed. "We don't have any."

"Well, that's a drag."

Temari shrugged. "It's not _my_ problem."

He smiled faintly at her, throwing a plaid shirt over the counter. "Then I guess I'll just buy this."

She looked at it and cringed. It was the most hideous thing she'd ever seen. Not only was it plaid—it was _red_ _and_ _yellow_. Temari almost laughed; it looked like someone had raided Ronald McDonald's wardrobe.

"Are you _sure_?" She asked, eyeing it warily. "It's pretty damn ugly."

"Do you talk to all of your customers like that?" He frowned.

"I'm not trying to be mean—I'm just being honest," she said. "But considering you are _literally_ the only customer to walk in here all day, I can say that I _do_ speak to all of my customers like that. But it's for their own good."

He huffed. "Look, I came here to buy a shirt—you know, the kind that you wear. Like this," he said, gesturing lazily to himself. "The thing I have placed before you is a shirt. I see no distinction in shirts—colors and patterns are too troublesome. I just see that this is a perfectly fine, cheap shirt. So let me buy it."

"No."

"What is _really_ so terrible about this shirt?"

"It's plaid, for one. And its color scheme is like ketchup and mustard. It's weird."

"Well so is your hair, but I'm just being honest."

She was unfazed. "That's grand, considering we have the same hairstyle. The only difference is that _yours_ shapes your head like a pineapple. But I'm just being honest."

He huffed again, staring at her. There was something about him that intrigued her, and it was frustrating. She didn't _want_ to like him—especially considering his taste in shirts. Maybe it was his personality? His pout was _kind_ _of_ cute. Maybe she just liked having someone to argue with?

"I've never thought of my head that way, before," he mused, rubbing his neck. She grinned at him, immediately hating that he just made her smile.

"Tell you what," she said stiffly, though still smiling. She couldn't believe what she was about to say—and it tumbled out before she could really give it thought. "I'll let you buy that damn ugly shirt if you go to dinner with me sometime."

He raised his brows. "You don't even know my name."

"I don't care," she said. And she didn't. "It's nice to have someone to fight with, for once. I'm Temari."

"I know. I can read," he said, pointing to her nametag. "I'm Shikamaru."

He awkwardly stuck out his hand, but instead of shaking it, Temari thrust in a business card on which she'd scribbled her phone number.

He looked startled. "You actually meant it?"

"I mean everything I say," she said. He looked at her, smiling slyly.

"Alright, Temari—I'll accept your proposition and call you sometime, but on one condition."

"Fine," she relented. "What?"

"You let me wear this damn ugly shirt to dinner."

She grinned, and suddenly felt okay with smiling. She didn't regret what she was getting into. This time, she reached out and took his hand, shaking it firmly. She might have blushed a little, too.

"Deal."

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Thanks for reading! Reviews are always welcome!


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